


Blood is the Devil's Wine

by CoffeeWithSprinkles



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Fingering, Limited fluff, Modern AU, Nipple Licking, Possessive Sebastian, Smut, Submissive Reader, Swearing, Vanilla, alcohol reference, limited soft sebastian, mild blood kink, no ciel is actually present hes just mentioned, reader is implied to have small tiddies because i have small tiddies and am insecure, some french, vocal man, you might need google translate on standby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithSprinkles/pseuds/CoffeeWithSprinkles
Summary: You're a gold-digger in New York, leeching off old billionaires with your pretty looks. One night, when you're at a party to scope out a new prey, you're stopped by a young CEO with a peculiar name.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 114





	Blood is the Devil's Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! This is my first fic I'm putting out there ever. Please pardon any formatting errors, I'm still acquainting myself with how it works. I hope you enjoy! Thank you IG user @yanatoboso for giving me the courage to put this out there. <3  
> This is intended for audiences over age 18. I understand that warning has no weight on the internet. If you've just gotta read it before your 18th birthday, please stay smart, safe, and responsible.  
> Update: I have a twitter! Come check me out at @CoffeesSprinkle

What does red wine taste like? The answer to that question will vary depending on who is being asked. Most will answer that it tastes like a bitter, almost acidic grape juice. To them, wine is no more than a drug to melt their pain away. Now, ask the same question of one of the snooty aristocrats clicking their polished heels against the marble penthouse floor. _They_ will answer that it depends on your bottle. Pinot Grigio, Cabernet Sauvignon, Sangiovese, each one has its own dark, distinctive undertone. Their wines are smooth like cream, strong like oak, and priceless like gold. I swished my glass around in my right, watching the Tempranillo wave in the corner of my right eye. To the rich, wine is nothing more than a status symbol.  
My shoulders were draped in white mink and a crimson dress clung to my torso, cascading down my hips into a pool around my feet. Diamonds hung from my collar and dangled from my ears. This was my go-to party attire, simple enough to pull together, but luxurious enough to garner respect at a gathering such as this. Frankly, I didn’t want their respect or admiration but, without it, I would’ve never made such a comfortable life for myself. That life was gained through a few pretty looks and an understanding of how to handle drunken, modern nobles.  
Now, one man hung onto me, his arm wrapping around my hip. He drunkenly conversed with another man, equally as wealthy-looking. What was his name again? Jamesworth, Jentworth? Lately, my escorts had been beginning to blend together. Just another well-dressed, forty-something white womanizer I met at the last party in town. Mr. Jamesman held me close, but never acknowledged me; he and his chum shouted and laughed about stocks or whatever. I was merely a pretty accessory on his arm. Such is the nature of this life, and I had long since grown accustomed to it. It didn’t matter who I spoke to as long as it meant money.  
A servant walked by with a tray of hors d’œuvres. Stricken, Mr. Johnsman snaked his arm out from my back and crashed his hand into the platter, scattering crumbs nearby. Taking my opportunity to scout somebody new to leech off of, I backed away from Mr. Jackman and shrunk under the canopy of the crowd. I made my way throughout the penthouse, scanning the sea of nobles. What was this party for, again? I was just a pretty plus-one, as usual. I found a balcony to lean on and survey. Nobody particularly interesting, any man who looked wealthy had a woman on his arm, and any woman who looked wealthy looked straight. I took a sip of my wine, which, miraculously, hadn’t spilled on my mink during my escape. A yawn escaped my mouth, causing me to eyeball the clock, or at least try to.  
“Pardon me, madam,” began the figure who, very rudely, appeared over my shoulder. I analyzed him quickly: His face was young and his suit was odd (who on earth wore coat tails in 2019?), so there was no way he had much money to his name. He was considerably tall and attractive, meaning he had to be a plus-one like me. It was annoying when young men hit on me, but I decided to play nice to keep my reputation intact.  
“May I help you?” I didn’t leave the banister.  
“I couldn’t help but notice that you were all alone.” What an original opener. Play nice, play nice.  
“Mhm, sure am. Who’re you with?”  
“I’m on my own, actually.” He had a distinguished British accent, which was a nice change from a New York drawl. His voice was deep and smooth, dipping into a fry on each consonant. “The owner of this penthouse recently made a deal with my company.” Oh? I perked up from my slouch, positioning myself appropriately and shortening the space between us.  
“A company? You’re a CEO?”  
“Yes, indeed,” said he. “I own a confectionery and toy company in England. I inherited the title after the former CEO passed under mysterious circumstances."  
Oh, my. Wealthy, handsome, and mysterious. This was certainly new indeed. I couldn’t lose this one. Interested, I began to survey him closer. His eyes were a peculiar shade of cognac, almost red. His skin was stark white and his suit was jet to match. He had a black cummerbund clinging to his waist and white gloves to cloak his sizable hands. His hair was poorly kept, his bangs hanging long in peculiar sections, yet it worked. Best of all, he had broad shoulders that lent him an air of dominance.  
“Ah, where are my manners, I have yet to introduce myself.” He moved his cocktail to his left hand and took my hand in his right. He bent and lifted it to his lips. “I am Michael Bastilianes, CEO of the Funtom Company.” With that, he planted a soft kiss upon my hand. In that moment, I was five seconds from moving to London if British men were like _that_.  
“(Name), charmed,” I giggled, almost like a schoolgirl.  
“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss (Surname).” He righted himself.  
“Well, _Mr. Bastilianes_ ,” I began inquisitively (it _was_ a weird surname), “if you’re the CEO of a great company, why are you up here striking conversations with runaway arm candies like me?” He laughed.  
“I have little interest in the drunken trifles of excessively wealthy human beings. Besides, such a beautiful woman like yourself must have a _very_ interesting story if she’s hiding herself at a party.” The way he spoke made me shiver in warmth. His eyes glanced around, and the music shifted. The pianist’s pace slowed into a slow, deep improvisational.  
“Aw, shucks, you’re too kind.” This was going super well. I closed the space even further; I was less than a foot from him now. I wasn’t just in this for the money this time, I was genuinely attracted to this man (despite his very unappealing name that was reminiscent of a 13-year-old boy). A repressed, dreamy corner of my mind hoped that I could seduce him and take him into a bedroom. Meanwhile, my rational brain told me to step away and keep hunting for someone I won’t get attached to... but life’s no fun when you play it rational.  
“I believe you were intending to check the time before I so rudely stopped you,” he said. He shook his wrist to reveal an onyx Rolex. “It is currently a quarter past nine, please accept my apologies.”  
“Goodness,” I began, feigning a yawn. “I’m already so sleepy, alcohol just knocks me out. Do you think the host would notice if I snuck into a bedroom for a quick repose?” I stretched a little, butting into his personal space.  
“There’s a good chance if you go to sleep now, you’ll end up sleeping here through the night. If you’d like, I could ensure you don’t sleep too long.” Michael stared into my eyes intently, towering over me with those broad shoulders.  
“Oh, dear,” I said, continuing to act innocent. “I would appreciate that, if it’s no trouble, of course.”  
“Not at all, madam. If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my drink before we go.” With that, he took the last sip of his cocktail and allowed the decorative cherry to fall into his mouth. I eyeballed him in bewilderment as he wiggled his jaw for a moment. Nonchalantly, he spit the pit back into the glass and stuck the stem out of his mouth... _tied_. He dropped it into the glass from his teeth and, never looking at me, set it upon the nearest table. Oh yeah, this was happening.  
“Shall we?” He offered his arm to me. I took it, allowing him to guide me down the hall. He gazed at me as we strode, looking me up and down. I felt a shiver throughout, as if my body knew what was to come. We found a darkened bedroom far from the crowd of the party. Michael held the door and allowed me to pass. The room was incredibly spacious, and the light of the city and the moon added a peaceful ambiance.  
“Would you like me to wake you at a specific hour?” He looked at his Rolex thoughtfully. It was now or never. I slid past his crossed arms, draping my right arm over his shoulder. He didn’t look surprised at all.  
“Maybe we can stay up together instead,” I suggested, my left hand lightly holding his bowtie. His Cheshire smile parted into a toothy grin.  
“My my, coming on to a young man like me? That doesn’t seem to suit you.” He leaned into my embrace, allowing his hands to find my hips.  
“Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from sexist old boomers with fat pockets,” I quipped, making him laugh.  
“Goodness, I didn’t realize human women hunted rich old men for entertainment. It’s almost cruel.” His hands lazily graced up my sides and behind my back, nudging my shawl off of my shoulders.  
“I wouldn’t say it’s for kicks. It’s just a way to get rich quick.”  
“Marc Kaufman mink?” He asked, holding my shawl up behind me.  
“You’ve got a good eye.” I tightened my grip on his tie and pulled him closer until I could see the patterns of his eyes. He dropped my mink and braced his hands behind my head, finally closing the space. His silky lips brushed into mine, leaving the most maddeningly delicate kisses. I hummed in approval, teasing his lip to encourage him to give more. He obliged, purring as his tongue entered my mouth. He slid it in and out, swirling it around mine and breathing my air. This kinky bastard was already fucking my mouth, and we had just barely started. As I ran out of breath, his teeth grazed my bottom lip. They were incredibly sharp, and it almost felt like he had fangs. He was quite vocal, consistently mumbling and sighing his pleasure. He pulled away, keeping his hands loose around the base of my neck. Gracing my neck with his thumbs, he leaned under my jaw to whisper.  
“Now,” he huffed, “tell me what you would like. I can be gentle,” his hands quickly moved to grip my shoulders, “or I can be rough.” I felt a thump between my legs as his breath brushed my ear.  
“Please,” I sighed, “be rough. Do whatever you want with me.” He laughed, almost cackled.  
“Oh, dear, what a dirty little submissive we have here. Fired up already, are you?” He leaned me back, once again covering me with his body. “Such a lecherous girl like yourself almost doesn’t deserve to have me.” He pressed his hips into me as he said this, trying to rub me against his leg. My dress prevented him from doing so, causing him to frown.  
“What a bother,” said he, spinning me around. He walked me forward and pushed me up to the nearest empty wall, making me whimper. He gripped my wrists and pressed himself into my backside. He traced his lips down my spine, his mouth finding my zipper. There was no way he was going to — yes, yes he was. His teeth seized the zipper and his head sunk down, exposing my bare back. He guided my hands above my head so that he could pin them both with one hand. He took his free one to glide against my leg, knocking my dress down around my ankles in the process. My dress’s structure required me to be braless, so my breasts were already exposed. He released me for a moment to pick up the dress.  
“Rodarte, a good choice. This wasn’t in their recent line, this must be custom. Who commissioned this for you?” He delicately folded the gown, crossing the room to set it on a chair. I draped my arms across my breasts and kicked off my heels as I faced away from the wall.  
“I don’t remember now. I think he owned a trading company.” I said. Michael made his way back to the wall and seized my arms again, crashing them above me.  
“You needn’t be so modest, my lady.” His head began to move down. “Your body is simply marvelous. Your curves ripple like waves in a storm.” He made his way to my left breast. His tongue snaked out, the tip lightly gracing my nipple. I huffed heavily as I watched. Now that I could see it, it was unnaturally long, curving back and forth. It had to be as long as my thumb to my wrist, and it came to a slight point. It wrapped around my breast, leaving a trail of hot saliva on my skin. He then proceeded to move towards my right.  
“Wait,” I rasped. “Can’t we just go ahead? I can’t-“ he placed his lips on my breast and began sucking, making me trail off into a groan. “I... I can’t handle this anymore.” He merely ignored me, gliding back into my neck. His lips found themselves over my veins and began sucking up the skin. My lips trembled as my blood pulsed downwards. He continued, leaving purple flowers imprinted in my flesh.  
“There,” he gloated, “now you won’t be able to go off gold digging anymore. Everyone will know you’re mine.” Normally, I hated when men treated me like property. This Bastilianes man was different, I wouldn’t mind dating him at all. This man touched my kinky side in all the right ways. He righted himself and gripped the edge of his glove in his teeth, yanking it off. I was appalled that this man was (allegedly) single. He quickly came back, now bare hands dancing across my torso. I allowed my now free hands to drape over his shoulders. He buried his head into my shoulder, merely breathing me in; it was almost wholesome. Not for long, though, for his hands descended and found themselves slipping under my waistband. He was still fully clothed, so I figured I should help. I took his tie and began to loosen it, but he quickly seized my wrist to stop me.  
“Ah ah ah,” he scolded. “I’m in charge here. I’ll decide what clothes come off when.” With that, he dove down, hooking his arm behind my knees and hoisting me up, causing me to yelp. He carried me across to the bed, dropping me and immediately climbing on top of me. This man had a huge thing for complete control (which complimented my thing for being controlled). His knees pressed my legs into the mattress and his fingers intertwined with mine, keeping my hands beside my head. I clenched my fingers in anticipation.  
“Wait, not quite yet,” Michael said, pulling off of me. I propped myself up, watching him with confusion (and, admittedly, some dismay). He pulled his tie, casting it to the floor, and shrugged off his coat.  
“What’s wrong?” I whined. From his coat, he took his wallet. He draped his coat on the end of the bed and took a shiny packet from the wallet.  
“Un préservatif, pour notre sécurité, mademoiselle,” _il a dit_. He spoke French, too?  
“Finally, high school French has come in handy,” I remarked. He took _le préservatif_ in his teeth and hooked his arms back; he unbuckled his cummerbund and allowed it to fall. He hastily freed some of his chemise’s buttons and climbed back over me, taking the condom in his fingers.  
“I’m not hard enough just yet,” he husked, bringing his lips back to mine. He was less composed this time, taking my face with his free hand and kissing hard. He let out a small sigh between each one. With one arm curling under his, I slid my free one down his torso, lightly gracing over his bulge in the most sinful manner. He bit his lip to silence himself; it was agonizingly beautiful to watch. As he continued to kiss, I released his hook-and-bar and reached for his briefs. I could feel his heart pound in tune with mine. He gasped into my mouth and pulled away, hastily opening the condom from his teeth. He unbuttoned the rest of his chemise, shrugged it off, and kicked off his trousers. Then, he exposed his erection, caressing it gently. I was taken aback by it.  
“It’s—...”  
“Seventeen centimeters,” he said.  
“No need to brag, Brit.”  
“Pardon me. Six point seven inches.”  
“That’s more like it.” He chuckled in annoyance. He removed his briefs and made quick work of the condom, rolling it on with ease. At last he came back, climbing atop me and toeing his shoes off the side of the bed. He sank down, allowing his chest to press into mine and his erection to rub against my lingerie. My muscles twitched; I was starting to go mad.  
“Ohhh, don’t tease me like that,” I complained breathlessly. He laughed and moved to my ear.  
“If you keep talking back like that, I’ll never give it to you at all.” He tugged on my earlobe delicately with his teeth, making me inhale sharply. At last, he slid his hand down my hip and beneath my lingerie, sliding them down until they fell to the floor. As he came back, he moved his hand down and under to stroke me lightly, planting kisses about my ribs as he did. I couldn’t help but to moan out.  
“What a sweet song. I sure do hope you’ll give me an encore to that performance,” he purred. With that, his finger delved inside, his tempo taking an accelerando that made me lose my mind. He took his thumb too, massaging it slowly over my clitoris. I moaned even louder, wrapping my legs around his waist.  
“My my, it’s almost like you _want_ someone to find us.” He removed his fingers and slid them into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself. I wrapped my tongue around his fingers, sucking them in to the top of his hand. “What a lustful expression, simply lovely. You’re absolutely ready, my kitty.” He left a deceivingly pure peck upon my nose, then seized my thighs with great force. He graced the end of his member against the entrance, and slid himself inside. I clenched my hands in my hair as he loosened me slowly; I had never slept with someone so big. His hips rose and fell like an ocean as he picked up some speed. He became even more vocal, gasping and sputtering with each pump. It made me feel even more fiery to watch him lose his composure.  
“Ah... you’re so tight... your intimates are as lovel- _hah!_ ...as a butterfly pea... _mmmnah!_ ” he cooed between sighs. His pretentious vocabulary was slowly beginning to escape him as his brain grew seemingly foggy. I hooked my arms under his, digging my nails into his back as he nestled his face under my chin. As he thrusted even faster, he bit down into my neck, causing me to whimper.  
“ _Mmm!_ What are you—“ I felt a bit of blood drip off of me.  
“Pah... pardon me... I can’t help my... myself,” he groaned, slowing his pace. His tongue traced the path of the drop. “Blood makes me...”  
“You’re... one kinky... motherfucker,” I heaved. He snorted and gripped my face, staring me dead in the eye. His eyes had begun smoldering red, illuminating the dark around his face.  
“You don’t understand, my lady.” Michael’s Cheshire smile stretched over his face. “I never thought I’d show myself like this tonight.” He sighed, caressing my face with his thumb. I noticed now that his nails were completely black. “You are _much_ more enjoyable than any other human I’ve taken.” I was too foggy with pleasure to fully comprehend what he was saying. All I knew was that that bite would leave a sexy mark on my neck and that I liked the strength in his grip. With that, he once again slammed my hands into the mattress, resuming his rapid pace with a newfound vitality. I could feel his member throbbing inside of me, filling up all the space my body allowed. He braced himself by taking hold of my waist, gliding his thumbs over my stomach. Not even the oldest wine in France could intoxicate me like his touch.  
“ _Ahn_... Se... Sebast...” What? Oh shit, was I moaning somebody else’s name? I could feel the small threat of orgasm bubbling in my core, hindering my brain even further. I couldn’t remember ever sleeping with a man named...  
“Seb- _buh_... Se— _ba~stian_! I’m, I’m so... c—“ I shouted, trailing off in my own whines. My legs rose and my toes curled as I felt my blood rush downward. Never slowing and still heaving, Michael? brought himself to my face, pressing my lips closed with his finger.  
“Oh, dear,” he huffed,” where on Earth did _hmmn!_ ...did you hear _that_?” He laughed between moans. “I’m glad that you’ve... come to know me more personally.” I could only respond with cries of ecstasy. I squeezed my fists as I felt ripples grip my body up and down. His chest glistened with sweat and he gripped my body even tighter; I could feel his member twitch.  
“I... I’m!!” I squeaked, a moan stifling my words. As my body slowed down, he removed himself from inside me. As he pulled himself off, my brain grew ever foggier, and my eyes went dark.  
“Oh, dear,” was the last thing I heard.

•••

That was some of the most peaceful sleep I’d had. I woke, never opening my eyes. My body was incredibly cold, coated in icy sheets like the ones found in a hotel. The air was cool and light, and smelled faintly like pine and smoke. Feeling my body, I was wearing a long-sleeved nightgown. The pillow under my head was deep and plush. I was at peace... then my memories came back. The memory of the party, the handsome man with the coattails, the kisses, the black nails, the red eyes, the intoxicating touch.  
“Oh my god... who... who did I sleep with last night?” I thought. I sat myself up in a hurry, surveying my surroundings. I was indeed in a hotel room, and a decadent one at that. Every piece of furniture was framed with finely carved wood; I felt like I was in a Victorian mansion. Morning sun filtered in through the gaudy curtains.  
“Is this... the Plaza Hotel?” I said, aloud this time. I looked down to see my garments. I wasn’t wearing a nightgown as I thought, rather, a long, white, dress shirt with sleeves longer than my arms. Looking across, I noticed my evening gown folded elegantly atop a desk, my shawl and jewelry by its side. On the floor below were my heels. Around the corner and down the hall, I heard a faucet run. Stiff, I crept out of the bed and towards the hall.  
“Hello?” I questioned weakly. Stepping out from what I presumed was the bathroom was that man once more, elegantly draped in a Plaza robe. Even in bedclothes, he was just as beautiful as the night before.  
“Wonderful to see you awake, (name). After you fell asleep, I took the liberty of bringing you here for your safety.” He began, surprisingly chummy.  
“You, wha-“ my head blanked for a second. I sighed and mellowed myself out. “Can I ask you one more time, what is your name?” His eyes narrowed.  
“It would be best if you addressed me as Michael.”  
“Oh, then did I-“  
“You needn’t fret.” He regained his pleasant expression, caressing my face with his thumb. I placed my hand over his, allowing my head to fall into it.  
“I have some business to attend to today. You may stay here if you’d like.”  
“I think... I think I’d like to stay here,” I lamented. “I may have gotten a bit attached after our encounter.”  
“Of course. I wouldn’t mind seeing you more either, not at all.”  
I smiled self-deprecatingly. Michael continued about his routine, dressing in a sport coat more modern than his evening attire. As he left, he left a kiss on my forehead. I appreciated his care, even though it could’ve been a façade. I crashed back into the bed, grabbing my phone from the side table (how nice of him to plug it in). My thumb hovered over the screen, then a wave of curiosity hit.  
“What was the company again?” I thought aloud. “Funtom, that’s right.” I opened my browser and typed in the search bar. I found a Wikipedia article for the company.

>   
>  _Funtom Co. is a British-owned manufacturer of plush stuffed animals, confections, and beauty products. The company is based in London, United Kingdom, and distributes throughout Europe as well as in North America, Japan, Australia, and South America. Funtom is currently run by Michael Bastilianes who inherited the company after a period of remission following the previous owner’s (Ciel Phantomhive) death in 1901._  
> 

A period of remission? What the heck did that mean? And it had to be a long one if the last owner died over a hundred years ago. I tapped the article for the previous owner.

>   
>  _Ciel Phantomhive, Earl of Phantomhive (December 14, 1875 – October 2, 1901), sometimes known as The Queen’s Guard Dog, was a British business magnate who inherited the confectionery company Funtom Co. after his father and previous owner, Vincent Phantomhive, was killed in 1886. Both Phantomhive’s and his father’s untimely deaths remain shrouded in mystery._  
> 

Jeez, that was a roller coaster. From the look of it, the last owner was only 24 when he died... and he was 10 when his father died. Christ, what a tragedy. Looking at the photos, the predecessor was a sour-looking kid with one beady blue eye and the other masked with a patch. He _looked_ like someone whose parents had been killed. I scrolled about a bit more until I found something haunting: a tintype of a young Phantomhive, seated in a standard Victorian style. Behind him stood a man in black coattails, presumably his butler…

Who looked exactly like Michael.


End file.
